


Love... the Doctor

by 9or10allgood



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Baby Fic, F/M, Fluff, Romance, really seriously fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 14:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7512070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9or10allgood/pseuds/9or10allgood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A certain actor appeared in a certain play in London. A video of a backstage encounter - featuring said actor responding to a rather unusual request from a fan's husband - was posted by a friend on lj, and the fluffy plot bunnies started nibbling on my toes.</p><p>Silly bunnies...</p><p>A smidge adult-ish at the end.</p><p>All characters, premises, yadda yadda yadda belong to Auntie Beeb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love... the Doctor

His ever present time sense told him it was 2:37 a.m.

Soft moonlight slipped through the slatted blinds, producing glowing hash marks on the floor. The Doctor crossed them on silent feet, and stopped beside the window. He looked down at the tiny bundle in his arms. Chocolate-y brown eyes stared back at him. Waiting...

“Right,” he whispered. “I was telling you... Sorry.” He smiled. “It wasn't my fault that I _somehow_ ended up walking past the autograph queue. And the news cameras. Then this bloke just asked me to _sign_ his wife. What does one _say_ to that?”

His audience didn't answer him, but he would have been surprised if she had done. Her mum, on the other hand...

“It wasn't as if I'd done anything, well, autograph-y. There was a Kelvan — nice, ah, people, the Kelvans. Just they get a little, um, warm when they're agitated. This one started smouldering in the theatre, and someone had to go sort it. Your mum is still on maternity leave, so that left me and — ” 

He could feel it — a Tyler-esque glare aimed squarely at the back of his head, and he only just managed to _not_ spin on his heel. When he _did_ turn around — sedately, thank you very much! — Rose was standing in the door of the nursery. Hair mussed, eyes shadowed, one strap of her nursing bra falling out of her sleeveless nightgown — she was beautiful. Annoyed, but beautiful.

He walked toward her — decidedly not holding their now drowsing daughter as a shield. “It _wasn't_ my fault,” he said softly, but emphatically. “I _was_ ready to come home, had just stopped in to say g'bye to Jake. The call came in about trouble at the... Y'know, we should _really_ make plans to see it. _Much Ado About Nothing_. I hear the bloke who plays Benedick is brilliant!”

“An' looks just like you, apparently.” Rose steered him toward the crib. “We'll see. They might not let you in the theatre after this.”

He huffed as he placed his precious burden in the crib. “I didn't start the fire.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

He turned to her, a protest bubbling to his lips, but stopped at the smouldering look in his wife's eyes.

“She — she's asleep,” he whispered.

“Wasn't planning on anything in here,” she answered softly, smiling now. “Come to bed, Doctor, and I'll let you sign _me_ ,” she offered.

... _Much, **much** later_...

His tongue traced lazy loops across her slightly salty skin.

“Mmmmm,” Rose sighed, as she ran her fingers through his wildly tousled hair. “Wassat?”

He kissed his way up her belly, between her breasts, to her neck and, finally, her lips.

“To the beautiful Rose Tyler. Love,” he murmured, “The Doctor.”


End file.
